


It is a Child Alone who Inherits the Kingdom of Loss

by BunnyBoi1998, Nikkie2571



Series: The Wandering Children of the Wild Kingdom of the Fae [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Attempted Murder, Christopher comes off as kinda sassy, Consensual Kidnapping, Crushes, Crying, Fae & Fairies, Fantasy, Gen, Kidnapping, Magic, Oracles, Orphans, Past Character Death, Prophetic Visions, Royalty, Seer, and also adorable, cursing the gods, mentioned only - Freeform, not really - Freeform, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26100415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BunnyBoi1998/pseuds/BunnyBoi1998, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikkie2571/pseuds/Nikkie2571
Summary: The boy who sits alone on his throne knows nought but death and time
Series: The Wandering Children of the Wild Kingdom of the Fae [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895026
Comments: 6
Kudos: 2





	1. The Neglect of the Past weaves the Loss of the Future

The boy glimpsed into the palm-sized globe of glass and saw only the past staring back, saw only the bursts of blood and endless screams that signalled the ends of his parent’s lives. The two darkest days in his kingdom’s recent history.

The boy pouted at the orb, hoping the images would change, would shift over to other visions, but it simply looped back once more and with a sigh he rolled the glass back into the padded sack he kept tied to his belt.

“Did you see anything useful, sire?” his Regent asked.

The boy closed his eyes tightly and shook his head.

“No,” he said, voice wavering just slightly.

The Regent frowned. “You saw them again.”

It wasn’t a question. It was never a question.

The boy nodded, eyes still closed.

A sigh, and then the Regent spoke, softly and without judgement. “Christopher… Perhaps you should go back to bed, yes?”

The boy turned and fled, hoping his tears would not fall until he made it back to his chambers.

* * *

The boy rubbed at his cheeks with his sleeves, tears not yet falling, but he could feel them, the potential of them, at the edge of his awareness. They would come, for they always did.

He wanted to curse the gods, the fae, the world itself, for giving him this power, this ability. So far it had done nothing of use, brought him no vision of greatness nor herald of joy. He didn’t know how his mother had managed to get a fae to touch her, or if she had been touched long before she’d been pregnant with him, but he wished to curse her all the same. Her death, at the moment of his birth, granted him with her future sight and her past sight and it had done nothing but haunt him since that day.

He opened the door to his chambers and closed them quickly, sinking down to the floor once on the other side. And like he had known they would, his tears came once more.

Every time,  _ every time _ , each and every time he tried to use his power, urged it, pushed it, wished it, to show him something specific, something general, anything it had not shown him before, it would ignore him, torment him, and toss his loss back into his face. He was supposed to be a seer, an oracle, a prince… a boy, and yet he felt like he had failed at all of these. He could not control what he saw, or what he predicted. He was a prince in duty but not in name, the unruling king of his kingdom until he came of age. And he was alone, without friends, without parents, without any way to know how he should be acting, what he should be doing. Even the children in the town knew more about who they were than him.

King de jure of Phalasis, Christopher Selent, last of the house of Kanta-Selent, wept in his room, alone and uncomforted, longing for all the things he should have had. And under his breath, he murmured, resigned and forlorn, “all the stars in the sky will fall and all the gods that rule will die before the day I get another vision.”

* * *

Christopher awoke suddenly, his head flinging back and hitting the door behind him. The pain barely phased him, and neither did the stiffness of his body. He could barely feel them through the shock of the vision his dreams had brought.

He had seen a person, a young man, or maybe an older boy. He did not know this other, but he had seen the other reach down and give him a hug, a smile clearly on the other’s face. The boy did not understand, did not know why he got this vision, why it had come now, or what purpose it held. The pure shock over even having the vision kept him from seeking the answers even as his mind whirled with the questions.

Christopher shakily got to his feet, his stiff body resisting his movements as he made his way across the room. His knees buckled slightly and he ended up leaning against his wardrobe, facing towards the wall-mounted mirror beside it. While the surface was normally just slightly warped, it seemed more so now, the image of himself in it seeming to shift and curl slightly at different points.

His reflection moved, turning left and right, even though Christoper had stayed still. A shadowy figure appeared behind Christopher’s reflection, but the reflection did not seem to notice. The shadow lifted an arm, a knife in hand, and lunged forward, arm seeming to wrap around the boy’s neck, as if to cut it, before the image exploded into blotches of colour like ink in water and returning to a normal reflection.

Christopher fell on his butt, now sitting on the floor. His eyes were wide in horror, feeling the sickly sensation of tears prickling at his eyes once more. Had… had he just seen his own death?

Christopher’s vision went blurry at the edges and he fell back, lying down fully as he fell unconscious from shock.


	2. Fulfillment

Christopher ignored the pounding on his door, preferring to sit in the corner between the wall and his bed, feeling small and hidden and secure, despite the pressure the very air seemed to be pushing down on him with.

He knew, deep down, that he was being a bit unreasonable, but he felt like he was justified. He’d seen a vision of  _ his own death _ . That definitely should grant him some time to process.

“Young Sire,” the Regent said from outside the door, “you really should at least come out to eat.”

Christopher covered his ears and yelled “no” down at the floor as loud as he could, to make sure that the Regent heard it. After that, the knocking stopped.

Christopher let out a breath, slow and even, trying to calm himself down from normal into something much more resembling meditation. Two visions, yesterday he had two entirely new visions, one likely good, and one likely very very bad. One vision seemingly of the warm embrace of a friend, and the other seemingly the cold embrace of death.

The King wanted to laugh a little. At least he would have one friend before he died. How kind of fate to grant him that. Truly, was the universe so cruel and spiteful to him that the moment he wishes ill upon creation it changes up the visions of his parents’ deaths for that of his own? He wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

Perhaps, though, the second vision was a warning, rather than a truth. Not all visions of the future would come true, for just glimpsing through the rivers of time were enough to send ripples roaring along the path. But a warning of what? The vision was not clear enough to say, and there was no way Christopher would ever figure it out just by sitting in his room.

Reluctantly, the young King stood and left for lunch.

* * *

The gardens in the eastern courtyard of the castle were always pretty, filled with hedges and trees in a maze that could only be navigated through memorization of the turns. Christopher had sworn, as a much younger child than he was now, that he could tell which way was the right one just by feeling, perhaps because of his seer abilities, but he was never sure. No other maze had ever been that easy for him, and the only other time he would get feelings like that was before he would get sick or cry, so it was unlikely, but still, never had he ever gotten lost in the gardens.

For entertainment, he’d once avoided castle guards in the gardens for hours, to the point that guards no longer patrolled through them. There was no point if he could navigate it better and more easily than any guards or threats could.

There was a pond here, in the center of the garden, with pretty fish and a small waterfall, a surface that only ever reflected back his own face, no matter how hard Christopher looked. It was the most peaceful place on the castle grounds, and he spent a lot of his time here, musing and appreciating the beauty of the place.

There was a rustle and Christopher stood up, looking right and left around him staring back at the waterfall when nothing appeared. Had he merely heard things?

A dark shape moved from behind the waterfall, a thump sounded from behind him, and then an arm curled around his neck.

In what he was sure were his final moments, Christopher did not think of how unfair the universe had been to him, or that his most recent vision had been too vague to prevent if it really had been a warning. No, what he thought was ‘ _ I never did get my hug _ ’, before the hand holding the knife slashed through flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one is so short, but I felt like having the ending here was the most dramatic thing to do :3


	3. Permission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> permission is always important

The woman in front of him gasped, or tried to, the new hole in her neck making it difficult for her to breathe.

Christopher gaped and the woman fell back, making a splash as she landed in the pond.

“We need to leave” the man behind him said. Except, no, his voice, his voice was just a touch too light to belong to a grown man. There wasn’t the experience of life behind it. He was older than Christopher, sure, but he was not a man.

Christopher shook his head, gripping it in his hands. That was  _ not _ the thing to be focussing on right now.

“How can I trust you?” Christopher asked, sounding faint even to his own ears.

The older boy frowned, his brown mouth curling down just slightly. “I just saved your life?”

Christopher shook his head again, his golden hair shifting from the force of the motion. “No, no! That’s not enough!” he cried, feeling a raw and wet emotion build up inside him. “I don’t understand what’s going on, I don’t know who you are, o-or who that lady was. I don’t understand what you’ve ‘saved’ me from, so I can’t trust you!”

“Little King,” the other said, “I don’t have time to explain right now, there could be more of them.”

Christopher took a step back, feeling his hands start to shake.

“I’m suppos-, supposed to be a seer, I’m supposed to know things, I-I should know what’s going on, but I don’t! So either explain now, or-,or-,or I run!”

The mysterious teen took a step closer and Christopher took another step back.

“Little King!” he practically scolded through gritted teeth. But Christopher just shook his head in reply.

The teen sighed, turning away and closing his eyes to do so, and Christopher took the opportunity to step back once more.

A chill ran up his spine and Chriopher blinked unseeing grey eyes, his mind instead filled with the sensation of dread and an image of shifting darkness. Cloth moving, the glint of metal, the spurt of blood.

“B-behind me,” Christopher stuttered out, quietly. “Th-th-there’s one be-behind me, in the b-b-bushes.”

“Little King?” the teen asked, taking two steps closer. His brown eyes were creased with concern.

“If you,” Christopher paused, gulping down fear. “If you’re really here to h-help me, get the one behind me.”

The teen made a face, an expression that was flat and almost unimpressed. But he stood and pulled his knife out, flinging it into the bush.

Something moved, something dark. It leapt up and was gone in the blink of an eye.

Christopher felt his heart stutter and burst open, terror spilling through him as something halfway between a Vision and a fear-based expectation flashed through his mind.

“H-help m-m-me,” Christopher said to the older teen, unable to stop himself from sounding like he was being strangled by the very air.

Surprisingly sturdy arms wrapped around him and then suddenly they were leaping into the air, moving fast from one vantage point to another, until they were suddenly on the balcony of what used to be Christopher’s father’s room.

The tingle of magic was in the air, focussed around the other boy. Christopher could feel it clear as day. The teen must be magic too, just not like Christopher was. He probably had speed or strength, going by the feat he just performed. Knowing that did not make Christopher feel better about the situation though.

Christopher was set down on his feet, and then with a sudden smile the teen kneeled down and gave him a hug.  
“Oh, Little King, you have no idea how nice it is to see you alive!” the teen said as he pulled back.

Christopher felt… confused, but also… warm?

“You’re the one who ‘saved’ me though?” the young king said, feeling his mouth and eyes scrunch up from his confusion.

“Oh, you don’t know!” the teen said in realization, his face showing shock so plainly even the blind could have seen it.

Christopher just blinked at him.

“My father was friends with yours, Little King,” the teen explained. “My father brought me, let me see you, shortly after you were born, which is something I barely remember.” The teen appeared to blush, as if in shame. As if not remembering something from when he had to have been three or four was a slight against him.  
“Anyway…” the teen continued with a smile on his face, his teeth shockingly white compared to the skin of his lips, “your father saved mine in battle once and then failed to do the same in return, so I am here to repay that debt, to make sure you never fall like your father did.”

Christopher sat down, legs criss-crossed and face pooled into his hands. And then he screeched into them.

“Little… King?” the teen questioned. “What are you doing?”

Christopher screeched again, the flesh of his palms muffling the sound.

“My name is Christopher and I am cursing the Gods,” he said as flatly and simply as possible.

Feet shifted slightly, the teen’s shoes making a scuffing sound. They looked kinda expensive now that Christopher was noticing them.

“And… why are you doing that?” the teen asked.

Christopher peeled his blushing face from his palms and looked up into the warm brown eyes, at the concern in them.

“Because,” Christopher said with only a touch of contempt in his voice, “that hug was the nicest thing that’s happened to me in a while and my visions made me think  _ I was going to die _ . I think I should be allowed to curse the gods for making magic be so  _ fucking dumb! _ ”

Christopher pouted, so that his point was extra clear to the older boy.

The teen chuckled. He looked… amused. Which was … pretty good Christopher thought.  
Well, no, it was actually really good. Amusement looked really pretty on the teen.

Christopher felt himself blush. Again. So he hid his face in his hands… again.

“So… what do we do now?” Christopher mumbled into his palms.

“Well…” the teen trailed off. “I kidnap you?”

The teen didn’t sound very sure about that.

Christopher sighed. “Why is  _ that _ necessary?”

Silence for a moment. A long, dread filled moment.

“This place isn’t safe for you anymore,” the teen said very seriously. “There’s a reason my father failed, why your dad died. That reason has surfaced again and I will fulfill my duty of keeping that reason from interfering with your continued existence.”

Alright, vague, but noble. Christopher could… maybe get behind that?

Christopher let another sigh. “Can I at least know my kidnapper’s name?”

He could practically hear the smile as the teen spoke. “I am Merlicé Avantile, grandson of the former court mage of Phalasis. You may call me Merlin.”

Christopher looked up with a sharp expression. “Are you, maybe, just  _ maybe _ , named after a storybook character!?” he nearly shouted.

Merlin’s face turned noticeably redder. “My father was a fan… and a bit of a jokester.”

Christopher buried his face back into his hands with an exaggerated sigh. At least his “kidnapper” could keep him entertained, as judging from his name, his whole life was perhaps just a bit of a joke.

“Just…” a short pause. “Just kidnap me now, please,” Christopher said tiredly.

As he was picked back up, Christopher couldn’t help but wonder if it was really kidnapping if Merlin had his permission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, merlin is canonically a storybook character in this universe, f*ck you :P

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this story you can come join my discord for fans of my works! discord.gg/tBGA5fU


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